


wanted to be anything different, everything you would change in me

by notthebigspoon



Series: neon ballroom [2]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things with Buster are simple. They hook up every few days, rarely spending more than a few hours together. Occasionally they can manage a whole night. That's usually on a road trip but even then there are excuses that have to be made. Everybody likes Buster but he has his own set of friends and so does Angel. They can only shrug off their buddies so often without being watched too closely. It's slowly becoming common knowledge that Angel is well on his way to being single but Buster is a married man. A very happily married man as far as anyone else knows.</p><p>Title taken from Different by Acceptance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wanted to be anything different, everything you would change in me

Things with Buster are simple. They hook up every few days, rarely spending more than a few hours together. Occasionally they can manage a whole night. That's usually on a road trip but even then there are excuses that have to be made. Everybody likes Buster but he has his own set of friends and so does Angel. They can only shrug off their buddies so often without being watched too closely. It's slowly becoming common knowledge that Angel is well on his way to being single but Buster is a married man. A very happily married man as far as anyone else knows.

Sometimes, though, when he's laying in bed next to Angel, he'll talk about his family. How he loves all of them so much but he doesn't love Kristen like he thinks he's supposed to. He loves her, but there's nothing else there. No spark, no desire, just platonic affection and nothing more. He feels like a failure as a father and a husband. Angel never says anything to try and make him feel better because he's no poster child for a successful marriage. Not to mention that if it's put bluntly, Angel's kind of being a home wrecker right now. He should feel guilty.

It's hard to, though, when the only time Buster seems to smile is when they're together or during a game. This needs to stop, before Angel ruins Buster's life, but he can't find it in himself to do so. Angel has wanted Buster far too badly for far too long. Let it blow up in their faces if it's going to. He's going to enjoy it while it lasts.

It starts unraveling one night that Buster has slipped away from his wife and his friends. They cook dinner together and watch a movie. The Losers is one of Angel's favorites, he has a massive crush on Oscar Janaeda. They've seen it together enough times that they know every line. It's easy for Buster to distract him with a kiss. It turns into Buster in his lap, a place he seems to end up often and then Buster is hauling Angel to bed with a growled promise to tease Angel until he's _begging_ Buster to let Angel fuck him. It's Angel's favorite kind of challenge.

Buster keeps that promise. He always does.

They shower together, change the bedding before curling up with Angel's arm around Buster's waist and his face buried in Buster's neck. Buster sleeps like the dead, always does when he stays the night. Angel is near catatonic himself, barely stirring when a buzzing noise on the bed stand wakes him. He forces himself to wake up, reaching over Buster's body for the phone. No one ever calls this late. It could be something important.

He slides his thumb across the screen without looking at the display, rubbing his eyes and mumbling a sleepy greeting. There's silence and he repeats himself. Still nothing. He tries one more time, in English. This time, he gets an answer, a small feminine voice asking who is speaking. Angel thinks that's a bit rich considering they're the one who called him. He sighs and hangs up, tossing the phone back. It clatters and slides and Buster looks over his shoulder with sleepy eyes.

“It was nothing. Go back to sleep.” Angel yawns. Buster kisses him and drifts off again.

It's a day game the next day and they're both up early, moving around each other in the bathroom. Angel takes the first shower before going to the kitchen to make them breakfast. They eat bacon and eggs in comfortable silence, Angel glancing over the newspaper while Buster fiddles with his phone. Buster leaves before Angel does, taking a goodbye kiss before handing out the front door, yelling over his shoulder that he'll see Angel later.

Angel runs errands, does some grocery shopping for his children's impending visit. He has them on speaker during the drive to the park and he tries hard not to let his son hear him laugh about the girl troubles he's going through. He promises to call again later and tells them to text him while they're watching the game. He hangs up, goes inside to warm up and get ready for the game. He keeps an eye out for Buster, a new habit he's having a hard time breaking himself of. 

It's a good thing today, though, because Buster is nowhere to be found and they all grow more anxious the closer it gets to game time. He arrives halfway through batting practice, taking his glove slap and getting in the cage, all without saying a word. His face is tight and his jaw is set.

He takes the tongue lashings from the team and the coaches without ever showing a single emotional response. He spends the game trying to get close to him but something always manages to prevent it. When even Crawford can't get him to talk, they know there's trouble. They back off and give him room to breathe but it does little to change his mood. He's listless during post game interviews, his body language making it abundantly clear that he isn't interested in anything going on around him. The reporters drift away slowly.

Angel hangs around til the very last, as their teammates start to clear out and go home. He coaxes a concerned Lincecum out the door, waits until it has clicked shut before approaching Buster. He's sitting at his locker, back to the room with his head drooping. He looks so miserable, so defeated. He doesn't look up when Angel sits down in the floor by his feet, nor does he respond when Angel takes his hand and laces their fingers together, squeezing hard. Angel tries to wait, to let Buster say whatever he needs to say when he's ready, but it's not too long before the silence has become overwhelming.

“Buster, what's wrong? What is going on with you today?”

“Kristen called me last night. To see where I was and if I was going to come home. She said someone else answered my phone. She thought it'd been stolen. But I was holding it.”

It takes longer than it should for Angel to comprehend what that means. They both have the same phone and oh. No. No. He could not have blown this all up with such a simple instance of carelessness. Angel takes a breath, steadies himself. He's overreacting. Buster probably just feels guilty over the affair, that's all. Even though he has no right to hope, Angel is praying that Buster isn't about to tell him that it's all over.

“So you got drunk and slept on a guy's couch. It happens to the best of us.” Angel answers lightly, giving Buster a faint smile that isn't returned.

“She knows. She said she knew that something has been wrong lately. We get along fine but we haven't slept together in months.” Buster says quietly. Angel lets go of his hand, stares at his own knees. “She asked if there was something wrong. If it was something she did to make me this way. I told her that none of it was her fault. She cried a lot. Fair enough. Her husband has been cheating on her, after all.”

He's detached from himself, sounds a million miles away. Angel does the only thing he can and gets up, stretching and grabbing his things. He quietly tells Buster to go home and see his family. Angel barely gets five steps away before Buster's hand closes on his arm with a bruising grip and yanks him around so quickly that Angel nearly loses his balance. Buster looks frantic, wild, like a caged animal.

“No! You're not doing this to me, Pagan. You're not.”

“Not doing what?” Angel asks carefully.

“Not leaving me. You’re not leaving me just because it's about to get hard. You can't.” Buster says, but he no longer looks manic, only weak and beaten down and scared. “Not after everything we've- just, not after everything.”

“Okay.” Angel says softly, rubbing Buster's hand on his arm until the grip slowly loosens. There's a million and one things he wants to ask, things that they have to talk about. It's never going to be a simple as deciding they're going to stay together. “Where do you want to go?”

“With you.”

Angel kisses Buster's cheek and says nothing else, heading out of the clubhouse and trusting Buster to follow him. They drive back to Angel's condo in relative silence, only the sound of the radio to fill the ride. Buster stares at his phone a lot, sends only one message and Angel can guess who it's sent to. At the house, Buster sinks onto the couch after kicking away his flip flops and just stares into space. Angel leaves him be for a while, ordering dinner in and checking his messages. By the time he's sitting down on the couch with a pizza and grabbing the remote, Buster is looking more like himself, a determined look in his eyes. He takes a slice of pizza, watches Angel closely.

Angel shrugs. “It's Tuesday. Tuesday is pizza and White Collar night. You know this.”

Slotting things back into a routine seems to help. They pretend, for a while, that nothing is wrong and that there's nothing in the world to be afraid of. Buster falls asleep with his head against Angel's chest, features smooth again, showing no sign of any care or worry.

Angel wishes that it could always be like this.


End file.
